Peter looked across at the desk. 'Ah. Paradise Lost, Book I. I remember that. We did it for higher certificate.'
'You've read it since, of course.'
'From morn to noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, a summer's day. What about that?'
'Very fine.' Bernard looked out of the window and saw the white hoar-frost still unmelted on his narrow lawn.
'Is everything all right, Bernard?' The man from Gloucestershire spoke with an abrupt kindliness.
'Course everything's all right. Why did you say that?' It was clear to Peter that everything was far from right.
'Oh, I don't know. You just seemed a bit on edge on Wednesday night. Scuttled away like a startled hare after the dinner.'
'I'd forgotten that Margaret would be late, and I knew the kids would be waiting outside.'
'I see.'
'Was it that obvious?'
'No, not really. I was watching you, that's all. You didn't seem your old self when we had a drink together, and I thought you might be a bit under the weather.' Bernard said nothing. 'Everything OK with you and er Margaret?'
'Oh, yes. Fine. I've got to collect her, by the way, at twelve. What's the time now?'
'Half past eleven.' Peter rose to his feet.
'No, don't go! We've got time for a quick drink. What'll you have?'
'Are you going to have one?'
'Of course I am. Whisky?'
'Fine.'
Bernard withdrew to the kitchen to get the glasses, and Peter stood in front of the window, looking out into the narrow street. A car, white and pale blue, with a light (not flashing) on the roof and POLICE marked in bold black lettering across its side, was parked across the way, two or three doors to the left. It had not been there when Peter arrived. As he watched, a police constable, with a black and white chequered band around his flat, peaked hat, was coming out of a front gate. A middle-aged woman walked with him and the two were talking freely, pointing between them to every point of the compass. More talk and further pointing arms. Was she pointing here? The constable had a list in his hand and he was clearly checking some names. The woman stood with her apron around her, clutching her arms about her middle to keep warm and chattering interminably on.
Bernard came in, the glasses clattering a little on the tray. 'Say when!'
'I see you've got a few criminals in the road, Bernard.'
'What did you say?' Bernard looked up sharply.
'Is the law always prowling around here like this?' Peter got no further. The door bell rang twice; shrill, peremptory. Bernard opened the door and stood face to face with the young constable.
'Can I help you, officer?'
'Yes, I think so, sir, if you will. Won't take more'n a minute. Is this your car, sir?' He pointed to the red 1100 outside.
'Yes, it is.'
'Just checking, sir. We've had a lot of cars stolen recently. Just checking.' He made a note in his book. 'Can you remember the registration number, sir?'
Mechanically Bernard recited the number.
'That's yours all right then, sir. Have you got your log-book handy, sir?'
'Is it necessary?'
'Well, it is rather important, if you don't mind, sir. We're checking as thoroughly as we can.'
Peter heard the conversation through the open door and felt strangely worried. Bernard came in and poked about haphazardly in his desk. 'Where the hell's Margaret. . They're checking on stolen cars, Peter. Shan't be a minute." He looked ashen, and could find nothing. I'm sorry, officer,' he called. 'Come in a minute, will you?'
'Thank you, sir. Don't worry if you can't put your hand on the log-book, sir. You can give me the information yourself quite easily.'
'What do you want to know?'
'Full name, sir?'
'Bernard Michael Crowther.'
'Age, sir?'
'Forty-one.'
'Married, sir?'
'Yes.'
'Children?'
'Two.'
'Occupation?'
'University lecturer.'
'That's about all, sir.' He closed his book. 'Oh, just one more thing. Have you left your car unlocked recently? You know what I mean. Is it locked now, for example?'
'No, I don't think so.'
"No, it isn't, sir. I tried all the doors before I called. It's an open invitation to car thieves, you know.'
'Yes, I'm sure you're right. I'll try to remember.'
'Do you use your car much, sir?'
'Not a great deal. Running around a bit in Oxford. Not much really.'